


Black Terror

by InsaneVoice



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fear of Death, Gen, Panic, Psychological Horror, Self-Reflection, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-25 00:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17111228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneVoice/pseuds/InsaneVoice
Summary: The all-consuming fear when faced with certain death.--"I stare down the barrel of the shotgun thinking to myself about how I was going to die, head gone in a spray of blood, bone, and buckshot."





	Black Terror

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work I found while going through an old USB stick. From what I remember and based on the notes I left on the document this was a historical fiction project for school that I never completed due to writer's block. One day I may edit and complete it but for now, it will stay trash. _Original date written: May 8, 2015_
> 
> \--  
> Disclaimer: This was not intended to be offensive in any way. The idea was for this to show a role reversal.

That dark summer night is the night I learned what true terror felt like. Terror doesn’t just prickle at the base of your skull like dead fingers but wiggles around in the pit of your gut like maggots. That dark summer night is the night I almost died. 

Terror is a chill. A deep chill that seeps through skin and muscle to scape at the bone.

I could feel my mind cracking under the pressure. The strain of knowing that his gun was a loaded nightmare ready to smother out the glimmer in my eyes was driving me insane and I could feel it crawling under my skin ready to split me apart and expose the raw fear writhing in my gut.

“Boys, what you think you be doin’ tresspassin’ on my property? Y’all be up to no good?”

“N-no Sir. We were just passin’ though, we didn’t mean to bother ya. Honest.” Bobby replies babbling like a four-year-old who just got caught sticking his thumb into a peach cobbler before supper.

“Yeah?” The silhouette asks gruffly.

Adrenalin buzzes underneath my flesh, pulsing through my veins fighting back against the terror gripping at my very core. With a shaky breath, I answer the man framed by a halo of white, enhancing his darkness.

"Yessir," voice too high, "We meant no harm. Promise."

“And why should I believe y’all? Coupla white boys snooping around a black man’s home in _these_ times? 

I stare down the barrel of the shotgun thinking to myself about how I was going to die, head gone in a spray of blood, bone, and buckshot.

My mother would be devastated. After my father died two years ago in a farming accident I’m all she has left. Who would protect her? Who would look after her as her bones grew brittle and her hair lightened to a soft silver?

Hair glittering like spun spider silk.

How would my mother react to seeing her baby’s body destroyed like that?

I don’t want my mother to see me like that.

She wouldn’t be able to handle it, she can barely stand killing the spiders in the house. 

Crystal beads would be streaming down her cheeks for years.

I was going to remember the terror of this encounter for the rest of my life.


End file.
